Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930) (22 page)

 
          
Noreen
laughed too, but in an instant her face became grave again, and she asked, “
Why
did you let him do it?’

 
          
He
had been expecting the question and his expression sobered immediately. “Ginger
is a grown man, ma’am, an’ it was his business,’ he explained. “Bud was his
friend, and he had it to do.’

 
          
“But
surely it is the business of the law to punish a criminal,’ she protested.

 
          
The
law, meaning the marshal,’ said Green. “Well, yes, but yu see the law is such a
powerful long time gettin’ to work that a criminal is liable to die of old age
before it gets him. An’ s’pose it does get him, what happens? Why, he’s allowed
to escape because the sheriff is a friend, or he gets let off by a packed jury
of his “peers”—the fellers who oughtta be in the dock with him. Theoretically,
the law is sound enough, but out here it’s just a farce and a man must do his
own police-work. This feller was a cow-thief an’ a murderer—his life was twice
forfeit, an’ I don’t see that it matters whether one man or a hundred are
concerned in puttin’ him out o’ mischief.’

 
          
He
spoke seriously, and she was conscious that it was not entirely with the object
of justifying Ginger, but that they were his own views, and that she might
expect him to act in accordance with them. As a Western girl, born and bred, a
deed of violence was no new thing to her, but this one had come very close to
her, and the horror was still fresh. She realised that he was right, but she
would not admit it, even to herself.

 
          
“But
under your system, the man who is fast with his gun can commit any number of
crimes with impunity,’ she argued. “Had this man been quicker than Ginger, he
would merely have added another murder to the one he was already guilty of.’

 
          
“I
ain’t claimin’ the system, or that it is perfect,’ the cowpuncher replied. “Yu
have to have some penalty for offences against life an’ property. An’ yu
mustn’t mix up killin’ with murder, too many folks do that, an’ plenty o’
fellers get reputations as bad men who don’t deserve ‘em. There’s two sorts o’
gunmen—one who kills for the sake of it, an’ the other, who won’t pull a gun
until he has to, an’ who gives his man an even break every time. No, the law of
the gun may be defective an’ primitive, but without it this country wouldn’t be
possible. Do yu reckon that if yore father catches a rustler with the goods
he’ll hand him over to Tonk?’

 
          
The
girl was silenced, if not convinced, for, knowing
Simon,
she did not expect that he would do any such thing. Green saved her the problem
of answering his question by turning the conversation.

 
          
“Yore
friend has come a-visitin’ again,’ he said, and looking towards the ranch-house
she saw that Taxman and Laban had just ridden up.

 
          
“I
don’t make friends so easily,’ she returned, and then, “
You
don’t like him?’

 
          
“Yo’re
a good guesser,’ he admitted. “Shucks! We break even on that—he don’t like me,
an’—’ a gleam of mirth sparkled in his eyes, “I’m worried to death about it.’

 
          
With
a flourish he replaced the hat he had been holding, slid into the saddle with
the ease and grace of a young panther and sent Blue racing for the plain.
Noreen proceeded on her errand of mercy and spent quite a long time with the
patient. She found him cheerful, the pain of his hurt being compensated for by
the fact that he had avenged his friend, and he was full of admiration for the
man who had saved him from the clutches of the marshal.

 
          
“All
wool an’ a yard wide, that feller,’ he said enthusiastically. “I reckon he’d be
a good one to tie to, Miss Norry.’

 
          
The
phrase was one common enough in the locality, and indicated merely that the man
to whom it was applied could be trusted, but the girl grasped that there was
another meaning, and though she knew Ginger was not intending anything of the
sort, she felt herself flushing.

 
          
Meanwhile,
Green was pushing Blue at a good pace through the Maze. Several hours’ hard
riding brought him to the spot he was aiming for, the blind canyon where the
trail of the stolen cattle had melted away. Here he rode into the water and
turned upstream, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the cottonwoods
fringing the banks. On either side the ground sloped steeply to the frowning
cliffs above. It was a peaceful scene, with the sun dappling the foliage, the
piping of the birds, and the chattering of the shallow river as it raced over
the stones which sought to impede its course.

 
          
The
cowpuncher progressed slowly, his keen gaze searching every yard of the ground.
He had covered less than a mile when the canyon narrowed and he came to a blank
wall of rock which appeared to be the end of it. The foot of this was masked by
a thick clump of trees into which the stream disappeared. Pushing aside the
branches, which at this point almost met across the water, he forced his way
through and then pulled up in astonishment.

 
          
He
had come to the end of the canyon, and as he had expected, the cliff was before
him. At the base of it, however, was a small natural tunnel through which the
river flowed. It was a curious formation, suggesting that, in some bygone
paroxysm of Nature, the rocky walls of the canyon had been flung together,
welding at the top and leaving a passage for the stream at the oottom.
Approaching the opening, Green saw that the tunnel was too low for
a rider to pass through and that the stream appeared to occupy the whole width.
A faint gleam of light
appraised
him that it did not
extend very far.

 
          
Leading
the roan, he stepped forward, cautiously sounding the depth of the water; it
remained shallow, however, and the bed was firm rock, lightly covered by sand
brought down by the stream. In a few moments they were emerging into daylight
again, only to find the path barred by a rude pole fence. This
removed,
the puncher Ied his horse behind a clump of bushes
and carefully scanned the scene before him; he had no wish to fall into another
trap.

 
          
He
saw an open valley, oval in shape, and sloping gently at first and then steeply
to the rim-rock on either side. The floor was covered with good grass, and
winding through the middle was the stream which had led him to the place! The
valley was something over a mile in length and about half that distance in
width, and was devoid of trees
save
on the enclosing
slopes, where groups of pine and birch could be seen among the thick
undergrowth. A herd of about a hundred head of cattle was feeding leisurely,
and appeared to be unattended.

 
          
Green
advanced, still keeping under cover along one of the slopes and leading his
horse. Presently he descried a small log shack, half-hidden by trees, on the
opposite side of the valley; it seemed to be untenanted.

 
          
“It
shore is a dandy place for rustlin’,’ soliloquised the puncher. “First they got
a desert to lose the trail on, an’ if that don’t work the trick, there’s a
stream to drive the cattle along that’ll wash out every track soon as it’s
made, with a tunnel nobody’d ever suspicion ‘less they come straight on it, an’
here’s a natural feedin’-ground where stock can stay hid till yu want it. Why,
it’s as easy as takin’ money from a sleepin’ kid.’

 
          
He
had now worked his way along the side of the valley until he was level with the
grazing animals, but they were still too far away for him to distinguish the
brand, and this was imperative.

 
          
“Gotta
take a chance, Blue,’ he said. “
Them
cows may be
wear-in’ honest monograms, an’ we don’t want to make a mistake.’ Riding slowly
and rather away from the herd in order not to startle it, he gradually got
sufficiently near to decipher the brand. “Crossed Dumb-bell,’ he muttered.
“Huh, we gotta have a closer peep at that.’ The loop of his whirled rope
settled over the horns of the nearest steer and the roan braced back for the
jolt as the frightened beast dashed off and rolled headlong. Green sprang to
the ground, and having hog-tied the steer, examined the brand at his leisure.
The story was plain enough.

 
          
“Frying
Pan brand with another “pan” an’ a bar through the handle,’ commented the
puncher. “Pretty slick work though; in a month or so them scars will be healed
over, an’ as cows don’t talk none, nobody’ll be any the wiser. I guess that
settles it an’ I’d better be driftin’.’

 
          
He
released the limbs of the victim and lost no time in regaining his saddle, for
a steer which had been thrown is not a proposition to be enjoyably dealt with
on foot. A twitch of the rope set the brute entirely free, whereupon it
bellowed furiously and charged. At the same moment came the sharp report of a
rifle and the venomous hum of a bullet past the puncher’s ear. He looked round
and saw a couple of riders spurring down upon him from the upper end of the
valley.

 
          
Green
did not stay to argue. Swinging the roan so as to dodge the infuriated steer,
he rode for the tunnel, another bullet which drilled a hole in his hat leaving
no doubt as to the intentions of the newcomers. He did not fear that they would
overtake him, but they might cripple either his mount or himself, and so
prevent the information he had gained being turned to account. The pursuers did
not shoot again, being apparently under the impression that they could run him
down; they may even have imagined that he was ignorant of the exit at the lower
end of the valley.

 
          
Halfway
to the tunnel the fugitive narrowly escaped a calamity. He had to pass a
scattered part of the herd, and several of the animals, with usual bovine
stupidity, suddenly decided to run right across his path. Blue was going at too
great a pace for a sudden swerve, and there was but one way out of the
difficulty. With a supreme effort, Green lifted the roan as they reached the
running steers and the horse rose and cleared the obstacle with a magnificent
leap. A shout from behind, either of rage or admiration, greeted the
performance.

 
          
Two
minutes later the puncher reached the end of the valley, flung himself from his
horse and dragged his rifle from its scabbard under the left fender of the
saddle. The pursuers were still coming on but with slackening speed, as though
in doubt. From their appearance and gesticulations, the puncher opined that
they were Mexicans. He and his horse were hidden in a thicket of bushes.
Presently, as he expected, they pulled up and he could see them arguing. He
levelled his Winchester and fired; the horse of the nearer rider sank to its
knees and rolled over, sending the man in the saddle sprawling. Instantly his
companion wheeled to ride away, but ere he could do so the gun spoke again and
the second horse went down.

 
          
“That
sets yu afoot anyways, yu coyotes,’ muttered the marksman, and without waiting
further he led the roan through the tunnel again, mounted, and headed for home
at the best speed the country would allow.

 
          
Some
hours later he reached the ranch and found the owner in his favourite spot on
the verandah, talking to Tarman and his companion. The girl was there,
listening, but taking little part in the conversation. The cowboy slid from the
saddle and trailed the reins—he had now taught Blue to stay “tied to the
ground.’

 
          
“Lo,
Green; yu want me?’ asked Petter.

 
          
“Got
some news for yu,’ said the puncher, with a half-glance towards the room which
served the ranch-owner as an office. But the Old Man did not take the hint.

 
          
“Well,
let’s hear it—our friends won’t mind me ‘tendin’ to business for a minute,’ he
said, and added with a twinkle of amusement, “
You
met
Mr. Tarman before, I think.’

 
          
Green
turned his gaze upon the visitor lounging easily in his chair, and with a
perfectly grave expression on his face, said quietly, “Shore, I lent him my
hoss.’

 
          
For a brief instant Tarman’s eyes flashed murder, and then he
joined in the laugh which, started by Noreen, spread to the others.

 
          
“Yu
gotta admit I didn’t keep him long,’ the big man said, and his laugh boomed out
again. It was well done, but to the girl it did not ring true. She had caught
that fleeting look and knew that the man’s vanity had been rubbed on a sore
spot, and that he would have cheerfully slain the offender.